


Body Electric

by Agogobell28



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Chicago, F/F, Musicians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-09-26 12:59:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9898097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agogobell28/pseuds/Agogobell28
Summary: Delphine Cormier is a pianist on vacation in Chicago. She sees a singer by the name of Cosima Niehaus perform in a café, and is completely enthralled by the music, and even more by the woman making it. But she can only stay a week in the Windy City, and then she must leave...





	1. There's a Heartbeat in the Distance

The plane touched down on the tarmac with a juddering shake, its wing flap coming up to brake its high-velocity careen down the runway. The passengers were talking to each other in tired, cramped voices over the roar of the atmosphere outside; some were getting their phones out already, even though they hadn’t properly begun taxiing yet.

Finally the roar died down, and the plan slowly moved towards the gate. When it arrived, the passengers were getting antsy and impatient to get off, so it was a relief to all involved when the first people started exiting into the rectangular tunnel that led to the mouth of the gate itself. Gradually, women, men, and children started spilling out into O’Hare International Airport’s spacious, tiled innards.

Delphine Cormier walked through the gate, simultaneously exhausted and energetic. She had her phone in hand already, and she dialed the number of the friend who was her sole reason for coming here. Thankfully, the call was picked up after two rings.

“ _Salut_ , Delphine!” came the affectionate voice on the other end. Delphine smiled as she imagined Fatima on the phone, with her hair up in a bun and her legs up on a desk somewhere.

“Hi, Fatima,” she replied in a tired but thoroughly happy voice. “I just got off the plane, and I’m here at O’Hare.”

“Oh my god!! It’s so good to hear your voice again. But what the hell happened to your accent?”

Delphine laughed as she was swept along the sea of people heading towards baggage claim. “Sorry, I’ve been living in Montréal for the past five years. I did tell you about that, didn’t I?”

Fatima sounded like she was trying not to chuckle. “No, actually I think it’s cute. Next you’re going to start saying _câlisse_ and _tabarnak_ when you get pissed off.”

“Oh, shut up,” said Delphine, with no real anger in her voice. “So what is it you do here in Chicago? Last I knew, you were in grad school back in Paris.” She glanced up at the sign that said “Baggage Claim No. 14-20”, and turned right.

“Hah, well, I got my masters’ and got out of there straight away. You know about the situation,” came Fatima’s voice in her ear.

Yes, Delphine knew about the stalker - she’d encouraged Fatima to go to the police, but Fatima had refused, wanting to finish grad school instead of “making a fuss”.

“So I actually - do you know my friend Nathalie?” continued Fatima. “I talked to her, and she has an uncle who works for an environmental rights organisation, and he was able to help me get a position here. It’s a bit dull, but at least it’s in my field.”

“Wow, that’s fantastic,” Delphine murmured, waiting by her flight’s baggage carousel. Her two massive suitcases still hadn’t appeared there.

“So what do you do now? Are you still doing your science things, or what?”

Delphine laughed. “Well, kind of. I’m working on my doctorate in microbiology at McGill right now - okay, not quite right now. I’m taking a semester off to work some more.”

Fatima gasped in mock surprise. “That doesn’t sound like the Delphine I know. She would _never_ neglect her studies in favour of trivial things like _money_. I’m only teasing, you know,” she added, when Delphine exhaled sharply.

“You told me you would get time off work,” said Delphine, switching the subject. “Is that still the case?”

A sigh came over the line. “Ugh. I’ve been called in for some emergency work this week. They’re having trouble with something or other.” Delphine grimaced, and Fatima continued, “But don’t worry, we can still spend time together doing fun stuff - just much less than we planned.”

This was disappointing - she hadn’t seen her best friend from university in years, and now their plans would be simply whisked away from her, just like that.

“I’m sorry, I really am,” came the dulcet tones of Fatima, and Delphine immediately replied, “Don’t worry about it. There’s nothing you can do.”

“At least this way, you’ll get to see the things you want to see, without having me dragging you around most of the time,” said Fatima.

Delphine, still feeling quite let down, said, “Yeah - I guess.” She suddenly spotted her bags on the carousel, and quickly told Fatima, “I’ve got to go now. I’ll call you back later - it’s really nice to hear your voice again.”

“Aw, okay. _Ciao!_ ”

“À bientôt, Fafa,” Delphine said, and her friend giggled at the annoying nickname and then hung up.

Delphine slid her phone into her pocket, reached forward to heave both her bags off the slowly moving metal flaps, and started towards the exit, lugging the two giant bags laboriously behind her. She had no idea what the taxis were like here, but she hoped they wouldn’t be too expensive.

 

* * *

 

Delphine got stiffly out of the taxi, thanking the driver and tipping him generously. She breathed the autumn air, replete with car fumes, cigarette smoke, and a hint of sewage, as she looked around at her surroundings. A grimy, four-story brick apartment building sat in front of her, heavy on the earth like a big hulking rhinoceros. To its rights, smallish houses stretched down to the end of the block, and beyond. It was the first of these that was her destination - an Air-BnB that would act as a temporary crash pad, a home base for her week-long excursion here in Chicago.

Well, technically this wasn’t Chicago. Delphine was staying in Evanston, and a somewhat dingy part of it at that - or at least it appeared so. Once she arrived at her host’s front door, she peered inside through its little window. She could make out a Japanese woodblock print hanging above - thank god! - a small spinet piano, but not much else. She rang the doorbell, and the door was opened by a short black woman with close-cropped grey hair and an inquisitive expression.

“You wouldn’t happen to be Delphine, would you?” the woman asked, eyebrows raised.

Delphine immediately nodded and said, “Yes, I am. You must be Miranda.”

“Indeed I am! Welcome to Chicago,” said Miranda, and shook Delphine’s hand. She opened the door wider, and Delphine could see the front living room much better. The furnishings were somewhat bohemian or artsy, but looked wonderfully comfortable.

Miranda led her in, and showed her the way to the ground-floor guest room where she’d be staying. Once Delphine had deposited her leaden luggage there, she was shown the bathroom - right across the corridor, that was certainly going to be useful.

“You sure you don’t want to rest first? That must have been a long trip, from France all the way here,” said Miranda, once Delphine asked her how to get to the train station.

Delphine laughed and replied, “Oh - no, I came from Montréal, so it wasn’t too long.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! So you’re Canadian then?”

“No, I’m French, I’ve just been living in Canada for the past few years.”

Miranda nodded in understanding, and went over to the kitchen counter to pick up a brochure. “Alright. So this is the schedule for the Metra.”

Delphine took the brochure from Miranda and opened up the folds, rows and rows of neat little numbers now sitting before her. Miranda explained the essentials to her, and while Delphine was taking it in fine, she was distracted a bit with thoughts of what she was going to do here, and whether Fatima would actually be able to get time off work, and whether this house would be any good - she’d certainly seen good reviews on the Air-BnB website.

But she felt, too, an almost uneasy feeling deep inside her body, like something was being stirred up that had been sitting motionless for a long time.

Delphine was half-absorbing what Miranda was saying, but she thought she had the gist of it. So when Miranda finished explaining, Delphine went to her new, temporary room, dug around in the larger of the two suitcases, and came back out to the kitchen with her leather purse slung over one shoulder. She thanked Miranda, who still looked skeptical that she wasn’t tired, and headed for the door.

As she walked down the front steps, she struggled to fish her phone out of her tight jean pocket. Once it was in hand, she mapped out the directions to the train station, as Miranda’s directions hadn’t been entirely clear. Or maybe she hadn’t been entirely listening to them.

Delphine sighed internally, chiding herself for being so distracted earlier. What _was_ it, anyway? Sure, this was her first time in Chicago - but she’d been to many big cities before, and there was never that stirring feeling. It was subtle, yet seemed to demand her full attention. Delphine felt like it was almost a premonition, or a signal of things that lay in wait; she knew it couldn’t be anything supernatural, because that was silly, but maybe her subconscious had picked up on something.


	2. A Flicker of Light Ahead

Delphine took the commuter-train a few stops south, into Chicago proper, and she got off at what looked like a mildly interesting place. Maybe she could walk around a bit, get a feel for what was in this particular area.

She crossed the street, and decided to hang a left. Then, turning right at the next intersection, she kept her eye out for something that would grab her attention. Slowly coming into view as she traversed the length of the sidewalk with long strides were a jeweler’s, a real estate broker, and nestled between them, a small café. The three of them shared the same long grimy rose-coloured façade, and the sign for the café was written in such ornate script that Delphine had trouble making out what it said. But it looked inviting, so she headed towards it.

Upon entering, and being greeted with a hubbub of talk, clinking plates and mugs, and experimental synth music playing over the speakers, she went to the counter and glanced quickly over the selection of teas. She chose a jasmine-green, paid a somewhat more exorbitant price for it than she was used to for such a tea, then quickly sought out a small circular table near the back, making her way past conversing and Facebooking people.

Nursing her tea, hands cupped gently around the mug to absorb the warmth, Delphine surveyed the establishment. It was largely furnished in dark wood - the morass of small tables clustered in the middle of the room, the lovely-looking panelling on parts of the walls, and the weird platform-structure which she and her table were situated atop. She realised that the café must have live music on occasion, as this was obviously a stage of a sort.

Delphine sipped slowly on her tea, trying to imagine what sort of acts would play here. She envisioned rafts of stereotypical folk singers with their whispery voices and their fingerpicked guitars. But no, perhaps there were electronic acts and DJs and that sort of stuff too. Maybe even blues - this was Chicago, after all. There was only one way to check.

Having finished her tea, she made her way back up to the front counter. “Excuse me - do you have a calendar of the live music?” she asked the barista at the register.

The barista thought for a moment, frowning. “I… do not know. We _did_ have one, hanging on the wall just inside the front door, but it was stolen just a couple days ago. I don’t think we’ve printed a new one out yet.” Her face was sympathetic. “I can go check and see - ”

Delphine quickly jumped in. “No, no, it’s okay. You don’t have to. It’s not important.”

“Okay,” said the barista, shrugging. I _do_ remember the person who’s playing tonight. She’s a guitarist and singer from California, and she does some really cool things with looping, or delay, or whatever you call it. It’s pretty trippy, to be honest.”

This was interesting. “What time?”

“I believe she’s on at 7, maybe 7:30,” replied the barista.

Delphine nodded, said thanks, and headed out the door into the cool Chicago air. She took a breath and smiled. She had no idea how good it would be, but it was always nice to have a fun night out in a new city.

 

* * *

 

After getting a bite to eat for dinner at a little hole-in-the-wall Vietnamese place, Delphine decided to walk around for a bit and see this part of Chicago. Certainly it was different from Montréal or Paris, but it had the same sort of vibe. The large collection of people all in one place, from all around the country and the world, the conglomeration of many influences piling atop each other, was something she felt at home with. It was always interesting going off the beaten path, though, in any city. One saw the sides of it that no-one described in the tourist brochures.

Objectively speaking, the less-travelled parts of a city were no more “real” or “authentic” than the plasticky downtown attractions. Delphine already knew this from living in two big cities. Still, though, her sense of adventure was too strong to let any one single area satisfy her. If not _more real_ , then at least this was _more_ \- a bigger, more well-rounded picture of a city.

Delphine strolled casually down the sidewalk, glancing around at the various shops and storefronts and houses that lined the street. She passed a gaudy pink-and-purple hairdressers’, a laundromat with dim fluorescent lights inside, an incredibly narrow little Mexican takeout place that seemed like it had to suck in its chest just to fit; and now another drab grey-brick apartment building, time-weathered but still standing strong and fulfilling its purpose. Across the street a bookstore caught her eye; she quickly crossed, watching for cars, and entered into a warmly-lit interior.

Alpha to Omega Booksellers was a small, somewhat cramped space, but its shelves were immaculately arranged. Delphine caught the strains of Rachmaninov’s _Variations on a Theme of Paganini_ coming over the speakers softly - the famous slow movement, of course. _Great taste_ , she thought, as she looked to her right and titles on anthropology caught her eye. Then to her left - and she was met with volumes on military history in East Asia. She wondered where the register was, as the front of the shop seemed to be filled up with high, packed shelves. But upon starting along what appeared to be a central pathway through the stacks, a space further back in the shop presented itself, and a counter with a cash register and a small rack of chocolates atop it came into view.

A man was behind it, leaning back against the back wall, with one of his feet up on the wall behind him so that his knee jutted out. He was intently reading something on his phone, his chestnut hair hanging down in front of his face. Delphine approached the register slowly. Tentatively, she said, “Hi,” and the man looked up.

He looked rather like a lumberjack, she thought. With his brown mustache-and-beard and his blue plaid flannel shirt, Delphine was put in mind of the sort of backwoodsman one found in the forests of northern Québec - but less grimy and more civilised, perhaps. “Uh, hi. May I help you?” he asked, approaching her.

Delphine responded, “I was wondering if you had any of the works of Shakespeare in stock.”

“Yeah, of course we do,” he replied. “Many different editions, actually.”

“Oh - good,” said Delphine. She glanced towards the back of the shop, and then back to the man, with a questioning look on her face. _Is it back there?_ , she tried to communicate, without asking outright.

Thankfully, he understood her meaning. He smiled quickly and said, “They’re right there at the end of that shelf, all the way down,” pointing to the row in question.

Delphine gave a small smile in return, and headed towards the spot that she’d indicated. She had loved the work of Shakespeare since her first year in lycée, when her literature teacher had assigned a translation of _Much Ado About Nothing_ to read. She’d been quite enamoured with it, and it’d been a motivating factor in her decision to redouble her efforts in studying English, to get to the point where she could read the plays in the original language. She didn’t quite know why she’d asked about Shakespeare, though; it had been a long time since her phase of intense fascination with his work.

A copy of _A Winter’s Tale_ caught her eye, right on the end of the shelf. She took it off, trying to remember whether she had read it before. No, she decided, she had never read it, even though it had always been intriguing to her. _Might as well buy it, I suppose_.

Delphine returned to the register, thinking. The voice of the man behind it entered her consciousness quietly, like a cat brushing past one’s legs. “Will that be all?” he asked her, his eyebrows raised.

“Yes,” replied Delphine. She set the volume on the oaken countertop; the man peeked inside the front cover, hit a few buttons on the cash register, and the cash drawer popped open. “Seven dollars,” he said.

Delphine fished her wallet out of her jeans pocket, gave a ten-dollar bill to the man, and got three back. “Thanks,” she said.

“If you don’t mind me asking… are you French?” said the man, looking inquisitive.  
She smiled and said, “Yes, I am.”

“Where in France are you from?” he replied.

“The northeast part - Lille, if you know where that is - but now I live in Canada,” said Delphine.

“So you’re here on vacation?” the man asked her.

“In a sense,” said Delphine. “I’m visiting a friend.” _Or I was_ , she thought.

The man nodded and responded, “Well, I hope you like it here.”

“Are you from Chicago?” she asked.

“Oh, no. I’m from Seattle, but - I live here now. I’m not a native, if that’s what you meant.”

Delphine tucked _A Winter’s Tale_ into her purse and turned to leave. “Your bookstore is lovely, by the way.”

The man shrugged and said, “Thanks, but it’s not mine. I just work here.” He took a breath and added, “My name’s Cal, by the way.”

Delphine had started towards the door, but she turned back to him and said, “Delphine. It was nice meeting you.”

She turned once again towards the door and walked out into the crisp autumn air. Looking to her right, she saw a park, its trees yellow-leaved and half-bare, its fence rusting. She walked down to it, found a wooden bench, took out her new book, and began to read it. A streetlamp cast a yellow glow over the pages.

Delphine was so thoroughly absorbed in her reading that when she eventually looked at her phone for the time, it was already past 7 p.m. “Ah, _merde_ ,” she said in frustration; returning the book to her bag, she started briskly walking back down the way she had come.

She reached the coffee house and burst in through the door, expecting music to already be filling the space - but no dice. Glancing toward the stage, there was no-one playing, though the beginnings of an audience were clustering around. There was, though, a guitar, an amp, and what looked from a distance like an extensive pedalboard, set up on-stage already, together with a microphone. Delphine was reminded of a singer she’d heard about on a trip to Australia that would set up in this fashion, but she was sure this person wasn’t her.

Suddenly, as Delphine was taking her seat towards the back of the little knot of people that comprised the audience, a figure came running onto the stage from the hall where the washrooms were located. It was a small young woman with glasses, dark hair pulled up messily into a bushy ponytail, and a sheepish look on her face. She took the microphone and said breathlessly, “Hi guys, uh, my name’s Cosima Niehaus and I’ll be your entertainment for tonight.”

Delphine was intrigued. Obviously this woman didn’t perform often enough to discover than she shouldn’t lose track of time right before she went on. But the small audience was obviously enthusiastic enough to yell their approval up to the stage, with some people shouting out, “Cosima!”

Cosima quickly picked up her guitar, slung it around her neck, and turned her amp on. She appeared to be wearing some sort of floral-patterned scarf, together with a navy-blue top and loose pants of a strikingly deep crimson shade. Altogether, it made for a weird look, but it seemed to fit her, from what Delphine had seen so far of her. She stepped up to the mic once again, and said, “Now, uh, this is a song called ‘Islands in the Sky’.”

As she began to play, Delphine grew more and more fascinated. Cosima started up a fingerpicking pattern, used a loop pedal to keep it going, gradually added more subtle layers to the pattern, then finally started to sing. Her voice was strong, and the melody was long-phrased and beautiful. Delphine was spellbound - and then the song was over far too quickly. She wanted more of that melody, and thankfully the next song came soon.

This song went a little longer than the first one, but it was still just too short to contain all that Delphine wanted from each melody and each texture and each harmonic structure. She just could not stop gazing up at Cosima caressing he guitar and singing the body electric into the microphone, either - the _sight_ of her was so compelling, Delphine couldn’t tear herself away.

_I never thought I’d ever like indie pop_ , the thought, as Cosima launched into a rhythmic, hypnotic number, almost blues-like in its development of minimal-motifs. _But here I am, totally hooked._ It was a fantastic feeling. Not since she’d been introduced to jazz had she experienced this - it was gradually filling her up, permeating her body, warming her nerves and loosening her wound-up mind.

Much too quickly, it was over, and cheers and applause filled the shop as Cosima took a bow, unplugged her guitar, and got to work packing up her meagre equipment. Delphine shook herself out of her near dream-state, and a wave of disappointment washed over her. How was it already over? How had the time passed so damn fast? She made up her mind in an instant: she would go up to Cosima, once the latter was about to leave, and ask her where she was playing next.

Cosima, guitar case in one hand, was slowly lugging her heavy amplifier towards the door, and Delphine seized the opportunity. She stood up quickly and approached the other musician. “I can carry that if you need help,” she said.

Cosima shook her head, still looking down at the massive single Vox cab she was temporarily resting on the floor, and replied, “Nah, I’m good, I’m going to make another trip. For the pedalboard, I mean.” She picked the amplifier up to start carrying it once again towards the door, but Delphine asked her, “Are you sure? It looks awfully heavy. And you played amazingly so the least I can do is this.”

Cosima grinned, and glanced quickly up at Delphine, still not really seeing her. “Well, thanks - I mean, considering I arrived on-stage so haphazardly.” She handed Delphine the amp, and said, “Here ya go.”

Delphine took it and said, “You were totally fine. It was - it was fascinating to watch you perform. The looping and the layering, and that kind of thing.”

As they reached the door, Delphine reached out to open it for Cosima, who seemed pleasantly surprised and said, “Thank you.” They walked out into the cold nighttime air, and Cosima led Delphine down to the sidewalk to her car. Cosima took out her keys, opened her trunk, and put her guitar in; Delphine carefully laid the amplifier on its side next to the guitar, and Cosima closed the trunk.

“Honestly, thanks,” said Cosima, looking up into Delphine’s face for the first time. “The help is… really appreciated.” She had paused, her smile turning almost nervous.

Delphine was suddenly looking on Cosima’s face, just half a metre away from hers. She could see a streetlight reflected in Cosima’s glasses, the skilfully-applied eyeliner, the very pores of her skin, her eyes shining in the darkness, her lips slightly open… _her lips?_ Delphine wondered. _Why am I noticing her lips?_

Cosima’s eyes went wide, and she wrenched her gaze away from Delphine’s, shaking her head and blinking. “Shoot… um, I have to go back in and get my pedalboard and… stuff.”

“I can help you with that too,” Delphine quickly said.

“No, it’s fine,” said Cosima. “You’ve already done a lot, I don’t want to…” She slipped past Delphine, back towards the door of the coffeehouse, but Delphine said, “Hey, um, Cosima - ” and Cosima stopped and turned around.

Delphine bit her lip; she then said, “In truth, I want to talk to you.”

A somewhat surprised look washed over Cosima’s face, but it was replaced swiftly by slightly narrowed eyes and a suspicious tilt of the head. “Is this… is this what I think it is?”

Delphine had no idea what Cosima was talking about, but she quickly replied, “No, the thing is I’m a musician as well, and…” _God, I’m nervous and I don’t know why_ , she thought wonderingly. “I was wondering when your next concert is.”

Cosima’s mouth had fallen open. “Oh, oh that. It’s, um… tomorrow night, actually, at the Golden Calf Bar. You should totally come,” she said, and started heading towards the door once again. Delphine thought she’d seen, in the dim yellow glow of the streetlights, a blush on Cosima’s face. But it was so dark anyway that maybe she’d seen something that simply wasn’t there.

And suddenly, it seemed that no time had passed at all when Cosima disappeared into the coffeehouse again, presumably to collect the remainder of her gear. Disappointment filled Delphine, but she didn’t even know what she was disappointed about. Had she expected something more, perhaps subconsciously? Had she wanted to initiate some sort of grand conversation? This was all too weird, and she couldn’t see how this would play out.

She stalked off into the night, heading towards the train station. The image of Cosima’s eyes, shining and blazing into hers, kept coming into her mind, and as much as she tried to think about other things, that sight simply would not leave her. Even on the loud, clattering Metra train back to the stop nearest her Air-BnB host’s house, the very face of Cosima in the darkness could not be shaken from her mind.

There was something warm about her, perhaps. Something like warmth that settled inside you, but also something that electrified your nerves. Those songs all had a slow, steady, sure intensity flowing beneath the surface of their calm guitar patterns and Cosima’s beautiful voice. And as Delphine was let into the house, took off her shoes, and started drawing a bath, she thought about that intensity. What was it? And how was she going to find out? she wondered. It was certainly there in those eyes. Those enthralling eyes…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may be a bit delayed in getting the next chapter up, but more chapters shall come.


	3. I Feel It Growing from a Whisper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I took so long! Real life happened (mostly schoolwork). More chapters are to come, though.

The low full-size bed creaked under Delphine as she twisted around, trying to reach her bedside table to turn off her phone’s alarm. Outside, it was still dark, so the only source of light apart from the phone’s screen was a warm yellow glow coming under the bedroom door. It seemed that Miranda was up already, presumably making coffee or something like that.

Delphine preferred getting up early, and she always had. Even when she was ten years old she would set her alarm clock to a super-early hour just so she could take advantage of the quiet, dark, relaxed state of her family’s house, before everything started gearing up for the day. But it was difficult to sustain, what with late nights being such a fixture of her adult life. Studying in undergraduate, lab work for her master’s and her yet-to-be-fulfilled doctorate, and the super-late gigs she’d often had to choice but to play at: it was either sleeping in or chronic sleep deprivation. And she knew too much about the latter’s effects on the brain to risk doing it too often.

She slowly pushed back the soft duvet from her body, and rolled somewhat awkwardly off the mattress, standing up and rubbing the sleep-dust from her eyes. She decided she would go out into the kitchen and see what was going on - whether she could get a mug of coffee, mostly. She opened the door; it seemed a kitchen lamp was on - a stove hood light? - and it was illuminating Miranda standing at the kitchen counter, coffee mug in hand, her eyes close. It looked like she was thinking about something intently.

Quietly, Delphine walked across the carpeted hallway, onto the tiled kitchen floor, and said tentatively to the older woman, “Good morning.”

Miranda opened her eyes and seemed to pause for a moment before processing that Delphine was standing before her. She blinked, shook her head, and exhaled sharply, and then said, “Good morning to you too. You’re up pretty early.”

“Yes, I guess I am,” said Delphine, smiling. “Do you mind if I make coffee?” She wasn’t sure if Miranda was a bit irritated at her for disturbing her peace and quiet, or whether she was just a little taken-aback.

“Oh, there’s still enough left in the pot for another cup,” said Miranda. “The mugs are in that cupboard.”

Still bleary-eyed, Delphine saw the cupboard Miranda had gestured towards, and found a suitable black mug there. She poured her coffee from the glass pot under the coffeemaker, and asked Miranda, “Do you have any sugar?”

The older woman said, “It’s in the cupboard just by the fridge, and the spoons are here,” motioning towards a drawer close to her. She still looked like something was on her mind, Delphine mused.

After fixing her coffee, she sat down at the kitchen table, waiting for the drink to cool down to just the right temperature. Miranda left the kitchen and headed up the stairs. Delphine wondered why she was up so early in the first place - then wondered why she herself, Delphine, had set an alarm so early when she was on vacation. _Maybe her job requires early hours; maybe she just likes the quiet, like me._ An early start to the day did seem quite appealing, though.

Delphine wondered what it was she was going to do today, anyway. She was still quite tired, so it was difficult to shape her thoughts into coherent structures. And suddenly she remembered last night vividly, and a wave of emotional intensity came crashing over her. In her tired state, she could do nothing to fend off the saturated, colourful images of Cosima performing in that café, of the harmonic richness of the music filling the space, of that feeling her body had gotten so many times during those songs. It almost overwhelmed Delphine, and she closed her eyes, trying to savour that constellation of sensory memories all bound up in each other.

_How in the world did that get inside of me?_

She lifted the coffee mug to her lips, shocking herself back to reality as she quickly took a gulp of the almost-scalding coffee. She shivered as the painfully-hot liquid slid down her throat into her stomach, completely bewildered at the feeling she’d just experienced; deliberately, she forced herself to take several more large sips in order to finish off the dark roast, and then went over to the sink to wash out the mug.

Delphine went back to her room, stripped out of her pajamas, and got dressed. She stepped into the bathroom, brushed her teeth and hair, washed her face, and applied a bit of mascara; and yet, as she tried to smother it with her daily routine tasks, the ghost-image of Cosima’s face materialised in her mind. It was as if she’d stared into a bright light, and the result of the temporary exhaustion of her retinal pigments had somehow taken the form of a small woman with a dark brown ponytail and cat-eye glasses.

Finishing up, Delphine put on her shoes and grabbed her purse, then went back out to the kitchen. Miranda was there, eating up the last little bit of some pumpernickel toast. She said to Delphine, “I’ve gotta head off to work in five minutes, and I forgot to give you the spare keys yesterday, so they’re right there,” she turned her head to gesture over her shoulder, “on the counter.” She had let Delphine in last night, having been still awake and reading a book in the front room when Delphine had arrived back at the house.

Miranda stood up from the table, put her plate in the sink, and walked over to the younger woman, who had crossed to the counter to get the keys. As Delphine slid them into her jeans pocket, Miranda laid a hand on her arm. She looked up at Delphine with an almost rueful expression and said, “I’ll try to be better about remembering those things.”

Delphine was bemused; it wasn’t anything horribly important. Maybe there was something weighing on her host’s mind.

Miranda walked past Delphine to the door, picked up her purple messenger bag that was lying there, and turned to face Delphine. “I’m probably going to be back here around four-thirty. Go ahead and let yourself in before that if you want, but make sure when you go out to lock up. Good luck!” she said, and headed out.

While the coffee had done her good, Delphine realised she was actually fairly hungry for breakfast. And she hadn’t thought to ask Miranda whether she could use the stove or the oven or the toaster, let alone the food in the pantry and the fridge. There was no choice, at least to day, but to go out and get breakfast somewhere.

She opened the heavy wooden front door, stepped out onto the porch, and immediately regretted it. A cold breeze was blowing from her left, and her dark blue cardigan simply wasn’t thick enough. _Oh well_ , she thought. _If I walk at a fast enough pace, I’ll warm up._

 

* * *

 

Delphine took the train south into Chicago proper, and got off at Union Station, in the downtown area. As soon as she was off the train, she called Fatima - perhaps she had an idea of what time this week they’d be able to spend together. Hopefully it’d be more than zero, or else this whole trip would have been a waste.

 _Actually, no, that’s not true_ , she mused. _Chicago’s still a new city for me, and it’s huge enough that I’ll doubtless be able to find something interesting._ Fatima picked up the phone on the third ring, shifting Delphine’s thoughts entirely over to her friend.

“Delphine! _Ça va?_ ” said Fatima. Delphine thought she sounded quite tired, but then again, it still wasn’t even 9 a.m. yet. Was she still at home?

“ _Ça va_ ,” replied Delphine. “Hey, look, so I’m downtown right now, and I just wanted to know if you had any free time today.”

“Oh, damn. Don’t make me think about that this early,” said Fatima.

“What happened to you? You used to be such an early riser,” said Delphine, amused, as she passed an Argo Tea on her left, right next to a gaudy tourist-merchandise shop.

“That was because I had no social life back in uni,” Fatima shot back. “You were my only friend.”

 _And you were mine_ , Delphine thought. “What’s your work schedule?”

“It’s - they want me in for normal hours today, which is 10 to 6, even though I told them I wanted to take a vacation day. I won’t have any time off until after six, but we can get dinner then if you want.”

“Of course. Do you have a place in mind?” asked Delphine.

“There’s an Argentine restaurant in Hyde Park whose food is to die for,” said Fatima. “But maybe that’s a little far. Oh wait, I have it! Do you like Nepalese food?”

After giving Delphine the directions to a particular Nepalese restaurant and setting their meeting time, Delphine hung up, a bit happier than she had been. She was actually going to see her best friend, in the flesh, after five years of being apart. It was exciting enough under any circumstance.

Delphine looked around her as she walked. She was now traversing a bridge over the river - the Chicago River? she wasn’t sure - as she took in the sight of its dirty, muddy waters, the grimy grey walls that formed its artificial banks, and a long, low, rusted barge slowly moving upriver from where she was.

Eventually, she found a Starbucks, and went inside. She planned to ask one of the baristas, or somebody, about interesting things to do downtown - she didn’t have any tourism brochures (yet), and perhaps a local person might be able to tell her which of the tourist magnet attractions were actually worth seeing. The queue for the register was only three people long, and Delphine quickly found herself ordering a Tall cappuccino. After asking the barista, a young black woman with dyed crimson hair, her opinions on nearby things to do, she went down to the end of the counter to await her order. She scanned the tiny establishment for a place to sit. The counter by the window was free, with only a woman wearing a red coat occupying a seat there.

Delphine pulled out a white Formica stool and sat down. She lifted the paper cup to her lips, checking to see if it’d cooled down enough, and gazed out at the street through the glass, not really taking in the colour and motion that was the downtown Chicago traffic. She was too distracted by her own thoughts to care much about her surroundings - _the barista said the Shedd Aquarium is pricey but worth the trip. Should I go? Or the John Hancock Building? Perhaps the Bean, even? How do I choose?_

She decided to look them up on her phone to see which was closest to her current location. As she tried to wriggle it free of the small, tight jean pocket she’d stashed it in, a movement to the left caught her eye. The woman in the red coat turned towards her, and with a flash of reflection off cateye classes, Delphine was face-to-face with Cosima Niehaus, with only a single empty stool between them.

Delphine blinked a few times, somewhat surprised. How had she ended up in the same Starbucks as Cosima - in such a big city as Chicago? What was she doing here?

A moment passed, and Delphine realised she was staring a little bit too intensely. Upon meeting her gaze, Cosima’s expression had appeared somewhat puzzled, before quickly shifting into surprise, her mouth slightly open. Just like last night, thought Delphine, instantly remembering that moment outside the café, next to Cosima’s car.

“Hi,” said Cosima, her eyebrows raised. “Funny seeing you here.”

“You too,” replied Delphine, after a moment’s hesitation. “I forgot to introduce myself last night - I don’t know why. I’m Delphine.”

Cosima was grinning nervously, her gaze flicking between the floor and her coffee. “Uh - thanks again for the help last night. I totally didn’t need it, but it was… helpful,” she said.

Delphine couldn’t help but smile at that last bit. “Your music was so amazing, and - “ she decided to tell the truth - “I really wanted to talk to you.” She then added, “If I was being too pushy I’m sorry.”

“Oh, god, no. I’m the one that should be apologising,” said Cosima, chagrin obvious in her face and her voice. She ran her hand back over her hair. “Way to make a first impression on a fan. Assuming you are one, of course.”

“It’s nothing,” said Delphine. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.” She decided to change the subject, to lessen the painful awkwardness between them. “Your harmony - the way you harmonise things, construct chords - it’s very interesting.”

Cosima’s face suddenly brightened. “In what way?” she asked curiously.

“It’s very seldom that one hears…” Delphine shook her head, searching for the right words. “...such complexity, I suppose, in the harmonic content of your style of music.” Cosima was leaning towards her; she felt the urge to do the same, but wasn’t sure how Cosima would react. “I mean, what _is_ your style of music anyway?”

“Indie pop? I think? I’m not sure,” said Cosima. “This is... all stuff I taught myself. I’m not, like, professionally trained or anything.”

“Whatever it is... I’m totally hooked,” Delphine said, a smile forming on her lips in spite of her best efforts to prevent it.

Cosima still seemed a bit nervous, Delphine thought, but only barely. She took a drink from her own coffee cup and said to Delphine almost brazenly, “You told me you were a musician too. What kind of music do you play?”

“I’m - just a pianist,” said Delphine, suddenly feeling the urge to be modest. “No singing, or anything like that. Not like you do.” Cosima smiled and cocked her head to the side bashfully, and Delphine continued, “I do mainly jazz now, but I’m classically trained.”

“That’s cool. No, seriously, it’s really cool that you play jazz,” said Cosima. “I wish I could play jazz. It’s fascinating to listen to, but I don’t, like, _listen_ to it on a regular basis. Unfortunately.”

“If you want, I can give you some recommendations,” said Delphine.

Cosima gave a soft laugh. “That’d be nice. I used to really be into it when I was younger - forties swing and French gypsy jazz stuff, you know.” Her face brightened once again, and she said, “You... you’re French, right? You sound like it, and the name Delphine is definitely French.”

“Yes,” Delphine replied, nodding slightly.

“So, like, you know what I’m talking about then.”

“More or less.”

Cosima leaned back on her seat, her eyes still fixed on Delphine’s. She took another sip of her coffee, longer than the first one, and said, “What kind of jazz do you like?”

“Playing?” replied Delphine, a bit confused. “Or listening?”

“Both, I guess,” said Cosima, shrugging.

Delphine shifted on her stool and crossed her legs, thinking. “All different kinds - I try to be as varied as I can. I do particularly like modal, though…” and she launched into a long explanation of what she thought the relative merits of different jazz sub-genres were in both playing and listening.

Cosima was fascinated; as Delphine talked, the smaller woman’s eyes were locked on Delphine’s face, and she nodded each time Delphine emphasised a point. Delphine almost got a bit distracted by the intensity with which Cosima seemed to be drinking in every word she said. She’d never before had anyone be so completely engrossed by her opinions - not even facts, opinions: attention had never been something she’d handled.

As she trailed off, feeling almost ashamed for going on at length, Cosima returned the favour and described what she listened to. Delphine was unsurprised: modern singer-songwriters, ‘60s folk, grunge rock, plus a wide variety of other stuff. But then she recalled the complex harmonies and chord-voicings of last night, and she wondered: _where did she get all that, then?_

Delphine quickly realised that she herself had developed a totally-engrossed expression of her own, and quickly tried to change it into something less... adoring? She took a long draft from her own coffee, which by now was the perfect temperature, but she still just couldn’t tear her eyes away from Cosima’s face. Her mind was whirling like an old-fashioned spinning wheel, taking the fibers of what Cosima was saying and stretching and twisting it out into yarn, and she was nodding more than she ever had in her life.

As Cosima talked about how she was trying to incorporate more R’n’B influences into the songs she wrote, her hands moving through the space in front of her to demarcate abstract boundaries, Delphine was completely, utterly sure that she wanted to be this woman’s friend and collaborator. She was brilliant and scattered and energetic and chill all at once, and Delphine wanted to spend as much time as she possibly could with her.

But then the knowledge that she only had six days left here suddenly dropped down onto her like a heavy weight, and she felt the happiness slowly exit her. She tried to maintain an interested expression, but Cosima must have noticed a change, because she leaned back slightly with a sheepish expression on her face and said, “Oh, darn it, I’m... sorry, I know I talk too much. I hope I’m not totally boring you.”

Delphine hesitated involuntarily, then said, “No, not at all. This is seriously fascinating stuff. I mean, you’re - you’re - you’re a very different sort of musician from the ones I usually talk to, when I talk to them at all, that is.”

The trouble was, thought Delphine, she didn’t know what she wanted. She’d never been in this situation before, and so she had no idea what to do next.

Cosima grinned at her and said, “I guess we’re in the same boat then. It’s so nice to be able to totally geek out about music with somebody else.” Delphine couldn’t help returning the grin, and even though she knew it could only last so long, she once again felt that warmth gently suffuse her.

“I’m gonna go up and get a bagel,” said Cosima brightly. “I’m feeling pretty hungry right now.” She got up from her seat and asked, “Do you want something? I can totally get something for you.”

Delphine suddenly realised that, despite her intent earlier that morning, she had never actually eaten breakfast. She was also a bit taken aback by Cosima’s seeming willingness to spend money on a near-stranger; she said to Cosima, “You’re too kind - I can’t allow you to spend money on me.” Sliding off her stool and standing up, she added, “But I think I’ll get food as well.”

They returned to the queue again, Cosima in front of Delphine. Soon arriving at the front, the smaller woman placed her order; when she was done, she moved aside, and Delphine picked out a pitiful-looking slice of quiche from the display case. As they waited next to the espresso machine for their food to warm up, Delphine tried not to look at Cosima’s face. Somehow, it was more awkward than talking with her, and she couldn’t find any words to say - and she didn’t want to freak Cosima out by staring at her constantly. But she felt her eyes being drawn inexorably toward Cosima, and it was so hard to push off that feeling she got when she saw the other woman.

Finally, Cosima’s bagel-with-cream-cheese arrived, shortly followed by the now-steaming slice of quiche on a small plate. They took their respective meals back to the counter by the window; before they had even sat down, Delphine asked, “So... where are you from?” She remembered that barista saying something about California, but she wasn’t sure how reliable that information was, and anyway, she wanted to hear Cosima talk again. The way she spoke... wow.

Cosima was from Oakland, apparently. She’d gone to UC Berkeley and studied biology with a concentration in genetics, and was here in Chicago finishing up her master’s at Northwestern, after having been with a touring indie-rock band for a few years. It was both somewhat unexpected, and yet totally fit in with the image Delphine was gradually coming to see.

It was so heartening to find another woman who was both a biologist and a musician, and Delphine told Cosima so. Cosima raised her eyebrows and said, “You’re both too?”

“Yes,” Delphine replied, feeling at once both proud and self-conscious. “I’m... gradually working on my doctorate in microbiology at McGill.”

“How’d you get to be in Chicago, then?” said Cosima, taking a bite of her cream cheese-topped bagel.

“I’m here to visit an old friend from undergraduate. I haven’t seen her in years,” said Delphine.

“That’s super cool,” said Cosima. “I don’t really keep track of people very well - they just, like, go off and disappear.”

Delphine nodded as she chewed on a forkful of quiche. “Me too,” she said once she’d swallowed. “I just get absorbed in... whatever I’m doing, and I never have any spare time. I’m fine with it, for the most part, but...”

Cosima nodded and said, “No, yeah, I totally get it. But hanging out with an old friend sounds pretty dope.”

“Dope?” Delphine repeated, slightly-but-not-totally incredulous. Cosima smiled back almost cheekily and shrugged, saying nothing. Delphine continued, “Well - yes, I suppose it is ‘dope.’ We used to do everything together in university, except for our classes. We were in entirely different departments.”

“This is... still at McGill? Or in France?” asked Cosima.

“It was in Paris,” replied Delphine. She drained her now-lukewarm cappuccino and cut off another morsel of quiche with the side of her fork. “Here, she works for an environmentalist organisation of some sort.”

Cosima paused, her eyes still fixed on Delphine; she then closed them and nodded almost imperceptibly to herself. Delphine thought she saw Cosima’s expression change - was that the barest hint of disappointment here? It was probably just the light... Opening her eyes again, Cosima said, “What are you going to go do with her?”

“We haven’t planned very much yet, just dinner tonight,” said Delphine, taking the penultimate bite of her quiche.

“Sounds cool,” Cosima replied, smiling gently now.

Delphine’s eye was caught by a person in magenta outside, speeding past the window on a bicycle. She turned her head to truly view the outside for the first time since she’d come into the Starbucks, and it triggered an idea. An insane idea, yes, but still... It couldn’t hurt to try.

Steeling herself, Delphine met Cosima’s gaze again and asked, “So I know this might sound a bit... crazy, but... would you be willing to show me around downtown?” She tried to use her sweetest and most persuasive tone, and she hoped it’d work. There was a need, a physical need to be around this woman, inside Delphine.

It worked. Cosima shrugged and replied, “Sure, why not?” She laughed, and continued, “I’ve never had this happen before, but I guess there’s a first time for everything. I have a crap sense of direction, though.”

Delphine couldn’t help but feel relieved, somehow. _I’ll get to spend more time with her and get to know her!_ She stood up from her hard plastic stool to go deposit her plate and fork on the espresso-bar, and Cosima quickly followed; Delphine threw away her cup and said of Cosima, a bit nervously, “So - where do you think we should go first?”

Looking up into Delphine’s eyes, Cosima bit her lip and said, “Honestly? We could just wherever our feet take us, and look at stuff along the way. Like, I barely know any of the landmarks, even after two years.” They walked towards the door, and she continued, “Millennium Park isn’t that far away, I s’pose.”

She sounded like she was just barely concealing her excitement, Delphine thought. But was she? Was Delphine mishearing, or worse, projecting something onto Cosima that wasn’t there?

Delphine pushed open the door and Cosima followed her through it back out onto the street. The sun was shining through the edge of a thin cloud, and a breeze was blowing gently along the noisy, car-filled street. Delphine realised that she didn’t know how much time had passed, and took out her phone to check the time. It was now 11:15 - they’d stayed in there chatting for a _lot_ longer than Delphine had intended for just getting coffee. She raised her eyebrows and put her phone back in her pocket.

“Let’s go left,” said Cosima, already walking ahead of Delphine. She turned to look back at Delphine, grinning, and said softly, “C’mon.”

Delphine jogged a few paces to catch up, her purse swinging out in front of her, so that she could walk beside Cosima. This day was shaping up to be already a thousand times better than she’d expected.


	4. A Taste from the Hand that Feeds

What a morning it had been, Delphine thought, and what a day it was about to be. She walked beside Cosima, surveying again the streets of downtown Chicago, but this time she had information. Cosima was pointing out the various shops and storefronts that seemed to hold up all the mighty grey glass buildings on their backs, and describing their insides or at least speculating as to what they might contain. Despite claiming not to know many of the landmarks, Cosima appeared to have an intimate knowledge of certain sides of Chicago, in a way. Delphine listened intently as Cosima told her what kind of people worked in each place, what sort of people frequented each place, what she thought of the vibe of each coffee shop, convenience store, pizza place, and pretentious boutique they encountered. 

As the conversation progressed, it gradually drifted to housing costs of different areas, local politics (for which Cosima appeared to have great distaste), Cosima’s experiences at Northwestern University, Delphine’s experience at McGill, until finally they were trading stories from undergraduate. It was around this time that they came within sight of the massive metallic Bean at Millennium Park, and Cosima led Delphine in its direction. 

Delphine was relating an anecdote about a strange and eccentric professor of molecular biology she’d had at the Sorbonne, and Cosima was alternating between amused chuckles and giving Delphine glances of disbelief. 

“He was... one of the most difficult professors I’ve ever had,” said Delphine, and Cosima nodded and replied, “Sounds like it.” The smaller woman then led Delphine across the street as the orange hand-sign flashed, 4...3...2...1..., and they had to run as the number hit zero as they were halfway over the crosswalk.

“Okay, here we go,” said Cosima as the big abstract metal sculpture faced them across the intersection. “Honest-to-god, I have never been here. I mean, the Bean specifically, not the park. But since I’m ostensibly giving you a tour of this area,” continued Cosima as the two women traversed the crosswalk, “it would pretty much be criminal to neglect it, you know? Like, even if it’s cliché.” Delphine found herself smiling at this.

They approached the shiny, massive, amorphous Bean and stared up at it, stopping about ten feet from it. Cosima seemed to be totally engrossed by it, and Delphine gazed up into its reflective surface, to try to see what Cosima obviously found so engaging. The reflections of the buildings and the tourists were distorted, sure, but it was hard to see what the purpose of such an installation even was. Delphine had never much been one for art without explanation attached to it.

As she wondered how one would mentally calculate the curvature of the Bean’s surface at a given point, she heard Cosima exhaling strongly. It turned into a giggle, and then a laugh, and Delphine realised her earnest face must have been what Cosima was seeing. Looking up at Delphine, Cosima said, in-between chuckles, “Delphine... Oh my god, I’m sorry but your expression... What - what is it?”

“I was trying to...” Delphine bit her lip, smiling, and shook her head. “Never mind, it’s not important.”

Cosima persisted. “Oh, come on, tell me what you were thinking!”

Embarrassed, Delphine raised her head and said, “I was... just thinking about the curvature of its surface - the surface of the Bean, and whether or not that could be determined from reflections.” Her cheeks were warm, she realised, and she closed her eyes. “My brain goes to some weird places.” Tourists passed by the two of them, unceasing and uninterested in what they were doing. 

Yet Cosima looked like what she’d heard had struck something inside her. Delphine could almost see the flow of thoughts rushing past in Cosima’s head as the shorter woman stared into space for a moment, then focussed her gaze again on Delphine.

“I’ve never actually thought about that,” said Cosima. “It’s been, like, I don’t know how long since my calculus classes, and I’ve forgotten most of it, so I am  _ not _ the one to ask about calculating curvature.”

Delphine nodded. “I can’t remember either, so...” She shook her head as she trailed off, her eyes drifting to Cosima’s hands.

“I mean,” said Cosima, “maybe since it’s... modern art, I guess, or just a funny-looking thing for the tourists…” She laughed again and corrected herself. “Well, it  _ is _ a funny-looking thing for the tourists. I mean, apart from you. But maybe it’s not meant to be analysed.”

“Even if it is art,” replied Delphine, “that doesn’t mean you can’t analyse it. It’s - it’s all a part of understanding it more deeply. I mean, chemical analyses are performed on the pigments that you find in Renaissance paintings, to determine how they were made, and how they can be restored, and for purely historical reasons as well.” Ah, yes, she felt herself thinking, the reflexes she’d developed over the years to defend science had come out in this conversation.

“Oh, right,” Cosima said, and blinked a few times, shifting her stance. “Yeah, no, I totally get what you’re saying. I mean, the golden ratio can be found in so many classic pieces of art, and that’s why they look natural to us - it’s because it’s found all throughout nature, you know? The phyllotaxis of plants, the shell of a nautilus, all of that...” She shrugged and continued, “And we’ve been able to determine that through extensive analysis. Like, you can learn so much about humankind just by studying our art.”

“Absolutely!” said Delphine, her fire now stoked. “It can tell us so much about our proclivities, our cultures, our basal instincts, and - the constructions we’ve made for ourselves, where they come from how they’re negotiated, expressed, explored...”

“Come on,” said Cosima brightly, reaching for Delphine’s hand and leading, almost pulling her gently, in her direction. “There’s tons more stuff I want you to see.” As Cosima’s smaller hand closed around Delphine’s fingers, her skin dry and chapped but still pleasantly warm, Delphine felt something small inside of her suddenly, tinglingly grow. It was as if a seed had sprouted at lightning speed inside her chest and was rapidly leafing out, though it was only later that she determined precisely what it was. They walked around the right side of the Bean, clumps and clusters of people passing in front of and behind them, and Cosima said to Delphine, “I was only laughing at you earlier because I totally didn’t peg you for the kind of person who’d get so absorbed in cheesy tourist attractions. I hope you’re not mad at me or anything.”

She seemed quite confident that Delphine wouldn’t be offended (despite her claims to the contrary), and even though Delphine hadn’t initially been offended at all, Cosima sounded so sure of herself that Delphine couldn’t help but feel a grain of irritation at the other woman lodge in her brain. The stubborn part of her was thinking,  _ she barely knows me - who is she to tease me like this? _ But coupled with the slight irritation, there was also a feeling of affection for Cosima. She gave a short, unintentional laugh, and replied, “Why would I be mad?”

“Good,” Cosima said, “because I don’t know what you’re like mad, but I don’t really want to find out.” The two of the reached a small crowd of young teenagers with backpacks being corralled by a few anxious-looking adults - junior-high students on a day-trip, Delphine thought - and skirted around the outer edge to reach the sidewalk on the far side of the Bean. As they maneuvered their way past the chatting students, Cosima still leading Delphine by the hand, Delphine caught a glimpse of the maroon-coloured shirts some of them were wearing and blinked when she saw that their mascot was an albino alligator.

Cosima let go of Delphine’s hand once they began walking along the sidewalk leading... south, was it? No, the sun was to their left, so they were going west. They reached another intersection and Cosima, having recognised something in the row of buildings ahead of them, started explaining to Delphine that there was an amazing new bakery up in this area and their donuts were honestly some of the best Cosima had ever tasted, and that Delphine should go there when she got the chance, and it grew clear to Delphine that she’d fortuitously stumbled upon one the best tour guides anywhere.

Cosima kept looking up at Delphine as they walked, and every time she saw Cosima’s hopeful face, Delphine felt a surge of joy. Their conversation drifted off once more, and later, Delphine would have a difficult time recollecting precisely what was said because the comfort she felt when talking with Cosima overwhelmed whatever it was that they discussed. She would vaguely recall Cosima preferring jelly-donuts in contrast to her own dislike of them, and that led to Cosima asking her about the past few years she’d been living in Montréal, because they sure as heck didn’t have Tim Hortons in France.

Having long since crossed the river, Delphine’s legs and feet were starting to get tired. It seemed Cosima was wanting a break too, because she stopped and said, “So, like, I’m actually getting kinda hungry - I don’t know if you are, but I was thinking... if you wanted, we could get lunch somewhere and talk... even more.” She laughed, somewhat nervously.

This was unbelievably tantalising to Delphine, but there was already a dinner-date with Fatima planned out tonight, and she really needed to save money on this trip. Of course, she wasn’t going to tell Cosima that, though - even though she loved the idea of spending yet more time with the bespectacled woman. So she came up with a reason that wasn’t technically true, but hopefully wouldn’t offend Cosima.

“I’d love to, but I’m not very hungry,” said Delphine, smiling, but feeling torn all the same. “That quiche was filling.”

“Oh, stop it,” said Cosima. “You’re a tall woman, you probably have a faster metabolism than I do - I don’t believe that for a second.” She crossed her arms and gazed straight into Delphine’s eyes, a catlike smirk on her face.

As soon as Cosima made eye contact, Delphine knew she was sold. Cosima looked like she could bore straight into Delphine’s soul and see every one of her thoughts - and far from it being a creepy or unsettling thing, Delphine felt like she could gladly give Cosima every one of her secrets and memories and trust Cosima with them. It was strange, and Delphine would later recall that this was the first time that she’d had the thought, but in the moment, it almost calmed her. Money was nothing in comparison.

“Okay, you’ve got me,” Delphine said. “I would love to talk some more.”

 

* * *

Not 10 minutes later, Delphine found herself sitting at a table in a little hole-in-the-wall Japanese place, talking to Cosima about music  _ again _ . They had already paid for their food at the counter, but it wasn’t ready yet. In the back of her mind, Delphine wondered why she wasn’t getting tired of Cosima’s voice - they’d been carrying on a conversation in some form for at least two hours straight already. It certainly wasn’t going to be anytime soon.

The weak fluorescent lights overhead were overpowered by the bright daylight coming in through the front window, which bounced off the linoleum-tiled floor to light Cosima’s face from below. It lit her arms, too, as she clasped her hands under her chin, fingers interlaced. She’d taken off her red coat to reveal an olive-green tank top which Delphine guessed was probably pretty thing, considering the way in clung to her sides.

They’d gotten onto the topic of playing in groups, and Delphine was reminded of the fact that Cosima had told her she’d been in a touring band for a period of time. She asked Cosima what style of music they had played, and Cosima responded, “Indie rock, mostly. Sort of garage, shoegaze, kinda post-punk I guess? I don’t know genre terminology all that well.”

“That’s alright,” said Delphine. “Apart from jazz, I have no idea either.” She saw a momentary smile appear on Cosima’s face in response to this, and she continued, “Especially in English.” Another little grin greeted her.

“I wasn’t really the... driving force, I guess you could call it, behind the band,” said Cosima. She swept her hands across the table to demonstrate her meaning. “I wrote maybe half the songs, and I did sing, but the whole concept of the band was my friend Lauren’s idea.” She’d hesitated almost imperceptibly before she said the word “friend” - or maybe Delphine’s senses were playing tricks on her.

“What was the band’s name?” asked Delphine.

“It actually had two different names - it got changed halfway through,” said Cosima. “At first it was Sister Kisser, but somehow it became Leda and the Swan, like the Greek myth.”

Delphine was curious. “Both of those names sound like they have some story behind them.”

“Honestly,” said Cosima, “I can’t remember the story behind Sister Kisser, but Leda and the Swan was all Lauren’s idea. She was a classics major at UC Berkeley, so... yeah.” She gave a slightly sour laugh.

Delphine’s mind was set racing - what sort of people were in the band? What had touring been like? Why had Cosima left and why was she solo now? Delphine was suddenly distracted, though, but the arrival of a big bowl of ramen and a bentō-box; the served set them gently down in front of their respective eaters, and Delphine thanked the woman. Cosima immediately scooped up a mass of noodles and scallions, dripping with broth, from the bowl in front of her, and looped the long noodles onto her chopsticks. Delphine surveyed the little compartments of her tray and decided to eat the green-salad first.

For a bit, Cosima ate contentedly, while Delphine tried her best not to devour her meal too fast, and the only things Cosima said were “Oh damn, this is good” and “Wow” to punctuate her ramen-consumption. But then finally Cosima paused and asked Delphine, “So I know this is a random question, but how long are you going to be here for?”

...and Delphine’s spirits fell for the second time that day. She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering herself, then opened them and said to Cosima, “Including today? Six days.”

“Frankly, that’s more than I’d hoped for,” said Cosima. She seemed to be processing what Delphine had said as she took another bite of her food.

Delphine was marvelling internally at how fast this all seemed to be going. Cosima wanted to spend even more time with her. That meant that whatever it was that Delphine was feeling was matched at least partially by something in the other woman. But she couldn’t let herself get carried away. She had to retain a modicum of control over this, whatever this was.

“It... it’s not as much as I’d like,” said Delphine, hesitating.

Cosima rested her chin on her hands again and said, “At least that’s something.” She glanced off to her right for a bare moment, then returned her gaze to Delphine as she continued, “I hope you’re not doing much.” A half-smile appeared on her lips.

Delphine didn’t entirely know what to say in response to this, and after a moment, Cosima’s expression suddenly clouded and she said, “Oh shit, I just realised how that sounded. I mean, of course I... I hope... you know what, just forget I said it.”

“No, you’re fine,” replied Delphine. “I think I understand you.” Cosima’s expression lightened noticeably, and Delphine said gently, “I would love to spend more time with you. I don’t have many obligations while I’m here.” Perhaps, Delphine thought, she was never going to get tired of staring into Cosima’s eyes, and the warm, intense feeling that came along with it. Or was that just adrenaline?

But when she realised that once again she’d been staring too long, she broke away her gaze. It was already feeling a bit awkward.

As they worked on their respective plates, Cosima asked Delphine about her knowledge of music-theory, deftly avoiding any further loaded, awkward moments (at least for the time being). Delphine found it all too easy to sit there, eating good Japanese food and talking music-nerd stuff with such a  _ cool _ woman, but try as she might, she couldn’t totally get rid of that heavy feeling.

The two of them took a while to finish their meals, having spent more time talking than actually consuming food.  _ I haven’t eaten this slowly in a while, _ thought Delphine. The past couple of months had been basically nonstop working at the lab, and half the time going straight to gigs right afterwards, so she’d gotten used to quickly eating her meals alone. But then again, she hadn’t had a conversation partner this engaging in that time, either. Delphine finished first, and Cosima drained her bowl soon after, by picking up the actual bowl and drinking the last of the broth and vegetable remnants straight from it. Delphine had a suspicion that this was meant to test her, or to tease her somehow, and she laughed as Cosima ostentatiously set the ceramic bowl back down on the table and gave Delphine a playfully defiant look.

Delphine pulled out her phone to check the time; she wondered if Cosima had to be anywhere soon, and so she asked her.

“Wait, what time is it?” responded Cosima, a bit distractedly.

“It's 12:40,” Delphine said.

“Oh, fuck,” said Cosima, massaging her temples with her fingertips, sounding exasperated with herself. She sighed, and then looked up at Delphine with a helpless half-smile. “I  _ really _ wish I could stick around, but I'm already late for an appointment with my advisor.” As she got up from her seat, pushed in her chair, and swung her red coat back around her, she said, “Seriously though, I'm... sorry that I'm just, like, running out the door.”

“I'm not complaining,” said Delphine, somewhat taken aback. She supposed she was lucky to get as much time with Cosima as she already had, though.

Cosima quickly buttoned up her coat and said, “Um... thanks for, just, the whole morning, I guess. Being around you and talking to you is... a blast. Honestly.” She was avoiding Delphine's gaze as she said this last bit; it was hard to see because of the bright light reflecting off the floor, but Delphine thought she saw Cosima blushing, just like last night.

Delphine suddenly remembered that Cosima had another concert tonight, and she'd never found out what time it was. So just as Cosima had turned towards the front door of the eatery, Delphine asked, “You said you were doing a show tonight - when is it?”

Cosima was walking away from her when she turned her head to reply. “You mean the thing at the Golden Calf, right? That's at nine o'clock.”

“I'll be there,” said Delphine (almost too eagerly, she thought as she internally reprimanded herself). She had totally forgotten to ask for Cosima’s contact information, and she couldn't ask now because that would delay Cosima more. And Delphine already felt a little guilty for making her late in the first place.

But as soon as she'd thought that, Cosima had grinned and given her a wave, and disappeared out the door before Delphine even realised it. Standing up and slinging her purse over her shoulder and head, the French woman pushed in her chair, left a tip, and thought,  _ now what will I do?  _ She could go back to the city center, stay here and explore the area, or maybe walk somewhere else; she had no idea how far they'd travelled on foot while deep in conversation.

But Delphine realised that with all the talk of music that'd come up between them, her fingers were itching to get back on a piano. Now that she thought about it, she hadn't played for two whole days - not since the morning before she'd flown into Chicago. Perhaps, she thought, the thing to do now was to return to the AirB’n’B and practise on that little spinet piano. She certainly couldn't slack off, even on vacation.

All that remained now, she thought as she exited Tōhoku Table, was to retrace her steps back to Union Station.

 

* * *

Thoughts and ideas kept spinning around in Delphine's head, their outer ends fragmenting, fraying, and breaking off into many little bits of cut-up ribbons falling down in a rain of confetti inside her head. It continued unabated through the surprisingly long journey back downtown, through purchasing her Metra ticket and boarding the now-emptier train, through the white-noise of the ride to Evanston and walking, fatigued, back to the house. She was drowning in  _ Cosima, Cosima, Cosima  _ and it was crazy.

Delphine opened up her purse, dug around a bit, and found the house key that Miranda had given her that morning. As she finagled the metal teeth into the slot, she tried to think of  _ why, _ precisely, she had latched onto the other woman.

It didn't seem to be coming to her, though. She opened the sturdy wooden door and stepped inside, taking her purse off and heading back to the bedroom to stash it temporarily on the bed. Coming back out to the front of the house, she pulled out the piano bench and sat down. It was nice to have quiet again - seclusion and relative calm, where her ideas could develop to their furthest extent.

Delphine quickly bent each of her wrists back and forth with the other hand, flexed her fingers, then took a deep breath. She opened the keyboard lid and started to run through a few two-handed scales to warm up. It was a habit she'd had ingrained in her from a young age, ever since she'd started classical piano lessons at the age of seven. However, most of the other aspects of her practice routine from before she'd gone mostly-jazz had fallen by the wayside. She simply couldn't justify doing endless permutations of finger-agility exercises, what with her master’s and doctorate work consuming so much of her time - it was just impractical now.

She finished the last harmonic-minor scale, but her mind was still on Cosima. Her fingers fell automatically into one of the progressions that she'd fallen in love with last night, without her even thinking about it. She didn't know what key it had been in, but those harmonic colours had been so vibrant and lush that they'd stuck in her memory and hadn't left.

God, what a pretty sound it had been, thought Delphine. She tried moving it up a half-step, to try to get the sound closer to the original key, and then tried again - it was at times like these that she wished she had perfect pitch. It  _ did  _ sound closer now, she supposed.  _ But I'm never going to get it exactly right, because this is a piano, and Cosima plays electric guitar. _ And what a warm, sweet tone it'd had; perhaps there had been some pedal effects somewhere in there.

Delphine’s fingers had wandered off while she had been thinking, and she was playing something entirely different now. It took her a moment, but she realised that it was another of Cosima’s sets of changes. There was weird root motion, definitely not common-practice harmony or standard pop changes, but she liked it. She tried to remember what had come next in that particular song, and after a couple moments, the memory surfaced. Just for fun, Delphine decided she would inject a little extra jazziness into the voicings.

But suddenly she paused again, because she'd just heard something that bewildered her.  _ Wait a second, _ she thought, biting her lip.  _ These are the changes from Giant Steps! _ It was impossible to mistake that series of dominant-tonic resolutions descending by major thirds. How could she have missed that last night? Yet there it was, right in front of her, camouflaged by a deceptively straight-ahead melody.

Had Cosima gotten the inspiration from John Coltrane, or had she simply come up with it herself? It was the first time Delphine had heard anything of the sort in music that described itself as “indie pop”, but admittedly, she'd never had the chance to listen to much of that stuff anyway. Either way, though, Cosima Niehaus had just gotten even more fascinating. Delphine resolved to ask her about it tonight - assuming she could find the venue on time, of course.

Her thoughts returned to the piano in front of her, and she decided to give the old Coltrane tune a go, because it had been a while since she'd soloed over it.

**Author's Note:**

> More chapters to come.


End file.
